7 Figures
by M.B.Liddle
Summary: Seven figures sat 'round a table in the dim light of a single, floating orb. The hour was late, but a strange energy possessed those that had gathered at the call. The Leader set down his eldritch grimoire and snapped his fingers. "So, shall we begin?" His fellows cheered, and so set about to roll dice against the fate of an entire world.


Seven Figures Sat 'Round a Table…

_Seven figures sat 'round a table in the dim light of a single floating orb. Spread about before them where tomes of ancient knowledge, charts and images of great heroes and mighty villains, and a veritable feast of the strangest foods. On sat at the head, his face obscured by a narrow screen as his fellows talked in hushed tones across from him. The hour was late, but a strange energy possessed him and the six others that had gathered at his call. He set down his eldritch grimoire and snapped his fingers. "So, shall we begin?" His fellows cheered, and so set about to roll dice against the fate of an entire world._

Xxx

A cold rain fell on the small hamlet of Orburn, a drenching, unending torrent that drove the few still on the street as night fell into the cover of their homes. Out of this drowned twilight strode a solitary figure atop a horse. The man, for man he was, cast glances aside from under a sodden hood, his eyes cautiously scanning the closed buildings to either side of the mud track. His gaze locked onto the slowly swinging, wooden sign hanging from a nearby building. _The Drowned Goblin_. The man's face relaxed as relief worked its way out past the frigid mask. He eased his horse over towards the tavern, pausing to dismount and tie up the animal under the scant cover of a canvas tarpaulin. He flicked back his hood and stepped into the tavern.

The room was hazy behind a thick wall of pipe smoke and loud with the raucous cries of reveling drinkers. The man shook water from his hair and made an attempt to squeeze water from his soaking tabard before immediately making for the bar. The bartender stood aloofly behind a wide wooden counter polishing a glass mug with a dirty rag.

"A cup of your finest ale, please." The man said in a voice unusually young for his build.

"That'll be a silver piece, guv'ner" the barkeep replied gruffly. The rain-soaked man reached confidently into a small leather pouch, withdrawing his money. Three copper bits fell out onto the counter. The barkeep froze with his hand halfway under the counter. Without skipping a beat, he instead turned and poured half a glass from a dusty keg on the back wall and slid it forward. The man took it without comment and turned around to survey the room.

"What do I see?" the man murmured to nobody in particular. The shroud of indistinct pipe smoke appeared to part to reveal the shape of the room. The tavern was a close, singular room built in rough-hewn wood. The tables and chairs stood scattered about in small clusters, seating a motley collection of men, halflings, and even a few dwarves. Four figures stood out, sharp against the unfocused background of drinking and revelry as if illuminated by points of light.

The first three sat around a short table, two humans, one male, one female, and a dwarf. The humans were locked in what seemed to be heated dialogue, the woman talking ardently in hushed tones while the man simply shook his head. From the looks of her, the woman was a priestess of some kind, wearing long, flowing white robes tied in red chord and clasped with a golden broach. The man wore a short sleeved leather jerkin over a faded white linen shirt. His handsome face was framed by neatly cropped black hair and short, pointed goatee. The dwarf was short, surly, and wrapped from throat to foot in thick-ringed chainmail. The table beside him was graced by an iron-edged shield and square faced mace.

The fourth figure was further back, pressed against the far wall behind a cloud of perfumed smoke. The figure was hidden behind the wrappings of its dark green cloak, the hood pulled up all the way to disguise its face. Only the stem of a finely carved wooden pipe and the glint of steel made it out past the folds of the wrapped fabric. As the drenched man watched, the fourth figure rose gracefully from its table and began walking towards the stairs upwards. The man's eyes passed back to the first three until there was a sudden scuffle of chairs being pulled back and a rush of silence filled the tavern. The cloaked figure stood alone in the center, the hood now drawn back to reveal a flowing curtain of fiery red hair that failed to hide two long, pointed ears. The elf turned her head quickly back and forth as looks of anger started to spread across the faces of nearby patrons.

"What's this?" A tall, barrel chested man bellowed as he rose from his seat. The man's eyes squinted beadily. "An Elf? It takes a lot of nerve for an elf to show itself around here, 'specially a she-elf like what this is!"

"Not an elf," another patron said in a reedy voice that followed the drawing of a dagger. "One of them whats-yer-call-its, an Eladrin."

A third drunkard rose and spat a copious go of phlegm at the elf's feet. "One o' them eladrin killed me own brother on the high seas! Cut 'is throat and drank 'is blood I'eard! You drink blood, elf? You kill anyone's brother while he was trin' to make an honest living?" the speaker clasped gnarled fingers around a thick wooden club. The elf took a step back and shook her head sharply, sending white tipped red hair flying. A subtle movement brought her hand behind her back.

"How's about we feed her her own blood, see how she likes it?" the second man said as he licked cracked lips. By now, seven men stood around the lone figure, brandishing weapons and angry bared teeth. The drenched man put down his ale. No one saw him step away from the bar; everyone's eyes were glued to the elf and her would-be attackers.

"Hey, you!" The drenched man called out in a clear voice, "Leave her alone." The seven roared with laughter. The barrel chested man turned with an ugly smile on his face.

"Eh? What in the Abyss do you want? You some kind of elf-lover then?" The drenched man sized up the other. He was tall and mucled. His chest was covered only by the ratty remains of what one time might have charitably been called a vest. Meaty jowls pulled back to reveal brutish looking teeth.

"I'm no elf-lover," the drenched man spat back, "I take a pretty dim view on casual murder though. Maybe you and your friends want to let this one go, she hasn't done anything wrong."

"Ain't done nuthin' wrong?" the man guffawed, "Boy, you heard what my friend said, killed his own brother for the crime of not bein' one of them. That's murder. This is just justice is all."

The drenched man took a deep breath and shook his head. Reason obviously the tool for the job. His hand went for the clasp at his throat and he let the sodden cloak slip from his shoulders. It piled at his feet. Even in the dim, candle-lit tavern the glint of gold thread and cold steel was unmistakably. The man locked eyes with the ogre-like drunk and he spoke with a loud and clear voice.

"I am Sir George of Reves, knight under Lothar, Prince of Aurlian and King of Arcee. This woman, elf though she may be, is under the protection of the King's Law." The golden crest of crown and throne shone on his breast as he spoke.

"King's Law is it?" the larger man spoke. "Last I heard, the King's busy fighting elfs like this one up in the North. I don't think he'd mind killin' one all the way out 'ere. Nor one of 'is knights either, if he's gonna run his mouth of in defense of some pointy-ears. Let's teach this puffed up errand boy some manners, lads!"

George's face fell as the crowd of onlookers roared. Nothing for it, he supposed. His hand had made a fist before the barrel-chested man could finish his battlecry and it was speeding towards the other's face before he had finished turning to grab his own club. The mailed fist impacted with a wet smack against the drunk's jaw. George swore as he felt the knuckles crack in his hand. The man struck back with a wild swing that caught George full in the chest. The drunk yowled as his own punch connected with rattling chainmail, but the force alone was enough to send the knight flying. George's ankle caught the leg of a stool and he toppled over. His attacker loomed over him and raised his club to swing downwards. George steeled himself for the blow, but it never fell. Bright red spotted the drunk's vest as he fell to his knees. Behind him stood the elf, her face flecked in blood and her eyes aglow with jade fire.

"Thanks," George managed weakly.

"You're welcome," the elf replied in a lyrical accent. She turned to block a blow from another drunk and offered a kick in return before dodging out of the way of three more attacks. George jumped to his feet as another attacker went flying past him. He blocked the swing of a club with his metal gauntlets and threw another punch. This one caught a scarred old sailor in the gut and bent him over. George shoved hard and sent the sailor back into a table. Behind him, he heard a grunted curse as the elf caught another would be assailant a wounding blow. Something caught George in the back and drove him to his knees.

"Your kind ain't welcome 'ere,' the reedy voiced man whispered in his ear. The club that had bashed him across the back clattered to the floor. "Always fancied myself a knight's sword, I think yours might just do." George felt a hand grasp at the cloth wrapped pommel of the sword that hung suspended at his waist. Blearily, he tried to slap the hand away. The reedy voiced man cuffed him again, this time in the back of the head and fingers clasped the sword and pulled. The blade remained firmly lodged in its scabbard.

"What the… What the hell kinda knight keeps his sword tied in his scabbard, eh!?"

"Not a good one," George retorted quietly. He lunged forwards suddenly, catching the man off guard. In the tussle, he managed to grapple his way into a hold and bore down of the man's windpipe. The man struggled briefly, then went still. George let go and pushed himself back to his feet. Only one man still stood, the scarred man with the gnarled fingers. He was untouched, but his club was splashed with the thin coppery blood of the elvenkind. The cloaked elf stood before him, her dagger outstretched in a dueler's grip. George stepped up beside her and drew a dagger of his own. The scarred man leered angrily.

"So that's it then, a knight an' an elf? Come on the…!" his bellowed challenge was cut short by a sickening crunch. The man toppled like a struck goat. The dwarf in the chainmail stood over him, mace at the ready.

"Kord smiles on yer' spirit, lad, but this ain't the way." The dwarf bent and layed a gloved a hand on the small of the downed drunk's back. A brief glow illuminated the stained tunic. "He'll live, maybe even walk." The dwarf said through his thick braided beard. "You two though, Celestine wants to talk ta ya. Kord knows why, lousy elf an' a knight who cannae fight…" The dwarf muttered darkly and spun back towards the table where the robed woman and goateed man sat watching intently. George looked over at the elf and nodded towards the group at the table. The elf nodded back and replaced her bloodied dagger behind her back.

Xxx

Celestine watched her surly companion trudge back towards the table, two figures in tow. Grimli was a good enough sort, for a Paladin, but he had his race's inborn dislike of the elves and didn't look fondly on knights that didn't share his order's devotion to Kord. The dwarf sat heavily in his creaking seat and shot her a look that spoke of his unhappiness. Celestine chose to ignore it, instead smiling and looking up to the two approaching warriors.

"That was quite a display. Please sit down." She pointed towards two empty chairs. The man, a knight by his own admission, sat down across from her while the elf was slower to trust. Eventually though, she also took a seat. The elf's jade green eyes watched her curiously. "I am Sister Celestine, cleric of the Holy Temple of Pelor in Havensport. I need your help."

"Don't let her talk you into anything," the goateed man said from behind a mug full of ale. "She's been talking to me all day, wants to go kill some pirates. It sounds like a suicide mission to me."

"Ignore the rogue," the cleric said haughtily, "Part of what he says is true though, I am looking to assemble a team of adventurers to deal with a group of especially nasty pirates. Goblin pirates."

"The rogue is scared of goblins?" the elf asked. The rogue snorted.

"I'm not scared; I just don't want to take on a whole mountain of them. And by the way, elf, my name is Erik, not rogue."

"Wait, a whole mountain? Also, I have a name too, it's Blodwyn y Llwynog. And I will join you, Celestine. I have no love of goblins or pirates."

"Thank you, Blodwyn," the cleric replied, "This mission is of great importance, the pirates have long troubled the ships coming into the city of Havensport, but recently they've become much worse. Somehow, they've gotten their hands on a warship, a man of war from the far south. Havensport has a mighty fleet, but they are mostly merchants and fast clippers. The Mayor and the High Cleric of the Temple have assembled a bounty of three hundred gold coins as a reward."

"Alright, now I'm interested," George said, "but how does this mountain figure into it?"

"The goblins have infested some long depleted copper mines on the coastline north of the city. The old shafts cut through to a fortified cove that the Mayor believes the goblins are using to hide their ship."

Erik pushed away from the table with a shake of the head. "Well now I guess you've found your two crazy volunteers. You won't be needing me for any suicide missions now. Good night ladies, sir, dwarf." The man turned with a flourish and walked out into the rain, pausing only to draw a faded but finely tailored cloak about his head and shoulders.

"I guess we don't need a rogue to take down a bunch of pirates anyway," George said, scratching at the scruff of a beard that clung to his chin.

"I have a feeling he'll be joining us," Celestine said with sarcasm uncharacteristic of a cleric of Pelor. "So anyway, if you two truly plan on joining us on this quest, I'll be seeing you by the town center tomorrow morning, bright and early." She smiled thinly. The elf and the human nodded. "Good, I guess we sleep until the morning then."

Xxx

The morning sun graced Orburn through a thin drizzle of rain, light compared to the torrential downpour of the day before. Celestine stood beside her dwarven companion in silence. The pair of them drew a few curious eyes from among the local peasantry, but little else. Just as the sun let go of the muddy horizon and began its slow skyward ascension, a figure detached itself from a nearby building. Celestine quickly recognized the elf, Blodwyn. The eladrin's hood was once again drawn up to cover her long ears, but failed to completely mask the soft green glow of her enchanted irises.

"I didnae think the lass would show up," Grimli muttered ill-temperedly to himself. Celestine chose to ignore him, instead greeting the elf warmly.

"Greetings, Blodwyn. I am glad that you are with us." The elf bowed her head ever so slightly. Now lit by true sunlight, Celestine could see the true finery of her equipment. The elf carried an intricately carved longbow of pale wood and a narrow leather quiver tied tightly against the rain. Beneath the embroidered green cloak, she wore a dark brown leather tunic made from interwoven strips.

"We still wait for the knight?" the elf asked.

"We do, ah, here he is now," Celestine replied. The knight emerged blinking into the pale sun, pulling his horse behind him. It was a magnificent beast, more suited for the battlefield that carrying the tight bundles of a bedroll and other traveling gear. Also strapped to the horse was a long wooden spear, unadorned and tipped with a simple iron head. The knight himself wore the same grimy tabard and cloak he had come into the tavern the night before and carried a small wooden round shield. A sword hung at his hip, tough Celestine noted with some surprise that the hilt was wrapped in rough canvas and secured with leather chord that tied it into its scabbard.

"Well met," the knight said, waving. The party offered similar platitudes before Celestine brought the topic back around to business.

"So, we are all here now, is everyone ready to go?" There was a flurry of nods. "Good, the road is long from here to Havensport. On foot it will take many days to make the journey. I will lead the way." She turned on her foot and began marching, only to stop short as she almost ran into someone standing directly behind her. It was a woman, shorter than Celestine herself and sporting hair as deep a black as Celestine's own was purest white. The dark hair framed a pale face so delicate it looked as if it had been chiseled from expensive marble. The woman wore a pale grey dress beneath a soft grey cloak hemmed in poisonous green. The woman smiled bitterly, an expression that seemed both twisted and beautiful all at once.

"You are the cleric; the one they say has plans to kill the goblins?" Celestine nodded. "Good. I will join you. I am Valiance Malduin."

"What can you do for the party?" George asked from the back of the party, preempting Celestine's own response.

"If you must know," Valiance retorted with a sneer, "I am a warlock. You guys look like you could use someone who can do some real damage, and that's me. So what are we waiting for, let's do this quest thing."

"Okay then," Celestine said. She looked out at the assembled party; a valiant knight, an elven ranger, a surly paladin, and an irritable warlock. A mighty group indeed, but the cleric of Pelor couldn't help but feel there was something missing.

"Don't tell me you were going to leave without me," a familiar voice came from behind. A man emerged from the early morning crowds. Erik gave a flashy smile and rolled his pack easily off one shoulder. The roguish human looked much the same as he had in the tavern the night before, though now he carried a short blade on a low hanging scabbard tied to one of two thick leather belts. The other belt held a gold handled dagger and pockets for various small blades. "I've changed my mind, I could knock around a few goblins… for a pretty lady." He bowed his head towards Celestine.

"Oh great, another human," Valiance snorted. Erik paused for a second, reading the half-elf's face like one would a page of script. His smile broadened.

"Hello there, what do we have here?"

"You attempt to touch me, and I'll kill you," the half-elf replied. Erik looked unaffected. Celestine spoke again, trying to steer the group back onto the rails.

"Shall we depart," she interjected awkwardly, "It is many days travel to Havensport. If we set off today, we may yet make the fortress at Aldcastle." After a few blank stares, the party relented, falling into loose line behind the cleric. The knight, George, mounted his warhorse and the group was off, leaving the smattering of hovels that made up Orburn behind them.

Xxx

The miles disappeared under the trudge of feet as the small band traveled in near silence. A few times Erik tried to engage the warlock in conversation only to be brushed off, or else inquired into the origins of George's very expensive looking horse, or Blodwyn's silver tipped hair. It was halfway through such an inquiry that Erik heard something akin to the rattle of wood on wood.

"Hold up, I think I heard something," he said loudly. The party stopped, each peering out into the woods they had been traveling through or looking back at the rogue. Erik himself turned around to stare back down the way they had come. Soon enough, he perceived the beat of hooves and the clink of metal plate. "I think we should get off the road." By then the others could hear it too. Celestine nodded and motioned for a thick stump that hung out over the left side of the path. The party rushed to the side climbing or hauling themselves up and onto the mighty bole. Blodwyn made a show of stringing her bow, while George unstrapped his spear and shield. The thundering of hooves and the whinny of horses grew louder, the clinking and rattling rising to a crescendo.

A banner crested the rise of the hill behind them, followed by a rider and his horse. Behind him rose a company of horseman, perhaps twenty in all. Each one wore shining plate and carried a long lance. Each man carried a helmet crested with a single eagle's feather. As the lead man saw the party, a horn blew and the column slowed to a canter. The lead man broke from the column, allowing his men to move past him as his horse trotted to a stop beside George's.

"Well met, travelers," the man said, in an accent foreign to the region. "What errand finds you so armed travelling on the roads of Garrone?" He removed the eagle crested helmet to reveal a scarred face that looked as if it had seen many battlefields.

"We travel to aid the people of Havensport," Celestine spoke up from the trunk. "This band travels with the blessing of Pelor."

"Ah, a cleric. I suppose I can trust the words of one who walks in the light of Pelor, even if she does travel with dwarves and…. Elves." His voice turned cold as he spotted Valiance's pointed ears, but he regained his friendly demeanor as he turned back to Celestine. "I would be careful travelling on these roads, my lady. My scouts tell me there are bandits afoot. Now, I must catch up with my men. Our travels take us in the same direction as you, but I fear that I cannot slow to escort civilians. My column rides in the name of Charles, Prince of Aguillon. We ride to the aid of the King."

"Be safe, Sir knight," Celestine replied, "And do not worry about us, we can take any bandits that might inhabit these woods."

"As you say, my lady," the knight made a flourish with his helmet before replacing it on his head and spurring his horse. He rejoined the column and the horn blew again. The horses bolted back into an even gallop and soon the column had disappeared into the distance.

"What was that guy's deal?" Valiance asked, momentarily dropping the mask of open contempt. "My lady? Yuck."

"He's a knight," George said under his breath, "Knights have to be posh and all that."

"I don't see you calling anyone 'my lady,' George," Blodwyn said playfully. George snorted.

"Yeah, well…"

"Guys, we should probably start walking again," Celestine urged, looking up into the sky as if it held a timepiece mounted to the pale clouds. "Night comes soon and I don't want to run into bandits in the dark.

Xxx

Blodwyn walked lightly at the back of the party, her mind distracted by thoughts of food and rest. As such, it was almost a surprise when her elvish eyes picked out the form of a broken wagon looming out of the pre-dusk gloom.

"Something's on the road," she said simply. The party halted, staring blankly ahead. Grimli shook his head.

"There's nothing up there lass." The old dwarf said.

"No, I see it too," Celestine said. Erik added his assent.

"It looks like someone's been having wagon trouble," Blodwyn said, "Do you think they ran afoul of those bandits that knight was talking about? Maybe they need our help."

"I don't see any bodies," Erik said. He peered out into the darkness, cupping his hands around his eyes as he would a set of spyglasses. "Maybe they abandoned it when it broke down. Hey, do you think maybe they left something worth salvaging?"

"We aren't stealing from troubled travelers," Celestine said firmly. "That said; I have a bad feeling about this. You guys stand back, I will check the wagon for injured occupants. Grimli, walk with me." Grimli nodded and muttered under his breath, but ultimately pulled his mace from his belt and unslung his shield. The two of them disappeared into the dim light.

"We should move closer," Blodwyn offered, "So the humans might see better if something goes wrong."

"That's a good idea," George started, "but I don't think…" he was cut off by a yell and a sudden burst of light in the direction of the wagon. Torches burst alight in the dark and two figures wrapped in dark fabric leapt from cover of its wooden frame. Arrows flew from the dark forest as the new attackers took their surprise attacks. A curse drifted back from where the cleric and paladin had gone to investigate while closer to the rest of the party, black shafted arrows sailed overhead or otherwise lodged firmly into the ground.

"We are under attack!" Blodwyn cried, reaching for her bow and one of the sleek elven arrows that rattled in her quiver. Before she could nock one though, another wave of shots flew from the woods. This time the cursing came from much closer as an arrow drew a deep furrow across Erik's thigh, shredding the fine clothes he wore with ease.

"My turn," Blodwyn whispered to no one in particular. With elven eyes, she scanned the treeline, easily picking out a black hooded human who had attempted to disguise himself amongst the leaves. She pulled back on her bow and loosed and arrow. The shot was true, slamming into the attacker's chest. The man fell dead. There was a clatter as something metal hit wood and Erik swore a strange oath. Behind her, Blodwyn heard the half-elf start chanting in a strange and fey tongue. A flash of green lit the trail and another of the bandits screamed. Valiance let out a dark laugh.

Further down the road, Celestine and Grimli were locked in a battle of their own. The two bandits who had jumped from behind the cart had assailed them with clubs before they could react; one had even landed a blow. Grimli had taken the hit, stepping in front of the still reeling cleric. He now bled from a deep head wound. The assailants had come again, wildly swinging. This time the dwarf was ready for them and warded off their blows with his shield. However, the blood in his eyes still stung and his return strike fell far short of its target. Beside him, Celestine made to smite the other bandit with her mace, but her attacker danced away. The bandit gave an ugly smile that showcased his startling lack of teeth and looked about ready to make another attack when his eyes went wide. Behind her, Celestine heard a clatter of hooves and turned just in time to see George of Reves lower his spear. He charged the bandit attacking Grimli. His spear turned the bandit's attempted parry and drove home with the force of a hammer upon an anvil.

The remaining bandits looked nervously about. Three of their fellows had been struck down for only minor damage to their supposed prey. As one, they made the only decision that made any sense. They ran. But they didn't get far. Another arrow sprouted from one of the fleeing bandit's backs, a knife erupted from the chest of another. The last survivor found himself now trapped between the upturned cart and three very angry adventurers. He threw himself on the ground and begged for mercy. Grimli caved in his skull with his warhammer.

"That… wasn't very… Isn't executing prisoners considered Evil?" Celestine asked hesitantly. The cleric unconsciously toed the dirt with her fine leather boot.

"I would'nae say Evil. According to the Law of the Land, the sentence given to bandits be death by behead'n. I reckon this fella's beheaded enough, don't you?"

"I suppose that's technically…"

"Have we spent enough time chatting about our alignments?" The warlock had reached the cart, though Celestine hadn't heard her walk over. "Let's just loot these guys and keep going. I don't want to be jumped by any more bandits in these woods."

George jumped from his horse with similar sentiment.

"Surely you are not thinking of joining the warlock in this, good sir knight?" Celestine questioned, but the mailed rider had already joined the looting with relish. As the two of them had just finished patting down the first man and started turning over the second, the rogue caught up to the group, his pockets suspiciously full.

"Oh are we looting the bodies?" he asked glibly, "how are we doing this, six way split?" Celestine looked at the bearded rogue with a look of disapproval.

"Well I certainly won't take money so gained, and neither will Grimli. Right Grimli?" The surly dwarf looked up at the cleric with a neutral look.

"I'll take a cut." Celestine looked a little betrayed. George ignored her, counting out the coin in his palm.

"Okay, these jokers had fifty silver between them, Erik, did those guys behind us have anything on them?" Erik looked shiftily to the side before shaking his head. George utterly failed to Sense Motive, and continued. "Alright, that makes it ten silver apiece then." He shared out the silver coins before sliding his own into the empty bottom of his leather pouch.

"We should move the wagon, in case it gets used for any more of these ambushes," Celestine said while trying to avoid hearing the clink of coin. "Come on, before it gets fully dark."

Xxx

It was fully dark by the time the broken old wagon could be levered up and over the raised embankment that separated the road from the surrounding forest. The task, which should have been easy for any like sized adventuring group had been slowed considerably by a run of bad luck. First the dwarf had slipped in the mud, then the rogue had dropped his side of the frame. In the end, the six walked away, tired and cold, but in the end successful in their task. They rode in silence along the path.

Just as the stars began to show in the sky, the Ranger called out. "I see something, there's a clearing up ahead, a big one." Soon, they could all see the clearing, and what lay beyond. It rose from the hilly ground like a craggy pillar. The rapidly failing light cast the structure in deep black silhouette, leaving only the stern outline of a single tower, tall and broad, surrounded by a low curtain wall. The walls themselves where covered in a scattering of torches that lit the parapet in a deep orange and the base was ringed by the light of campfires.

"The fortress tower of Aldcastle," Celestine said to the party as she lit a torch of her own. "It is said to be the oldest fortification in the Princedom of Garrone, built by the first clan of Men to settle on this side of the Rushing Ford."

"Who owns it now?" George asked as he eyed the tall and ancient fort.

"Technically the tower belongs to the Lord Mayor of Rushford, but the garrison here is maintained by Havensport. The garrison was tiny when I past this way last, though; I do not know who all these campfires belong to." Her question was quickly answered by the galloping of hooves. Two riders appeared from the gloom lit by the fiery contrails of lit torches.

"Hail, and well met," the first one said. The second nodded. "Be you the band our column met on the road from Orburn?"

George turned in his saddle to face the cleric. "Are these those riders following whatisname, knight guy?"

"That's _Sir_ Guy to you," one of the riders interrupted, "And yes, we are those same riders. The hour is late and you look to have seen some fighting. May I ask what transpired on the road?" Erik spoke this time, ignoring the riders.

"Should we tell them about the bandits?"

"I don't see why we shouldn't. The law in this region needs to know of them. I'm sure the garrison would be very grateful to be warned about bandits in the nearby woods."

"Oh yeah," Erik replied, his eyes lighting up. "Hey, do you think there might be some kind of bounty on local bandits?" his smile broadened at the idea of further riches.

"Ahem," the riders coughed, "You know, we can here you. You stand not fifteen feet from us."

"I'm sorry about my… friends," Celestine said. "Please tell your commander that we killed six bandits just a few miles back. Also, while you are there, please ask if we will be able to find lodging in the fort tonight."

"I will see to the first," the first rider said after thinking for a time, "As to the second, I can answer right now. You'll find no lodgings inside Aldcastle. Our own brigade stands camped outside, as you can see. The garrison has been greatly increased; even our captain could not find a room."

"Well that sucks," Valiance spoke up. "So what, we just camp out here on the road?"

"I guess we're going to have to," Celestine replied. "You all bought bedrolls back in own, right?" the cleric was met with five glazed over looks as her party members cast aimlessly about in their heads. "It comes packaged with the standard adventurer's kit." She said after George at least made the effort to shrug indifferently. Realization dawned on the party's faces and, sure enough, bundles of cloth materialized in their hands, drawn from various backpacks and off the back of George's horse. A sheet of blackness rolled over the whole party.

Xxx


End file.
